A/N: Good god, it's been over two months. I have a good excuse this time! I promise.
I worked on this chapter ALL last week. I was getting it all out and you know what happened? My phone malfunctioned and I lost all my work. All. Of. It. I was so pissed that I just had to walk away from it for a little bit. But now I have this beauty out and it's finally here and I hope you all like it. I've been planning this scene since watching season 5, so I hope it came out well. It's a little feels-y. And on the short side of how my chapters normally are, but I hope I portrayed what I wanted to well.
BY THE WAY: I noticed today that a chunk of the dialogue in the last chapter between Carl and Alyssa at the end was completely messed up and didn't make sense. I don't know how that managed to get passed me but it did. I. Am. So. SORRY! It's fixed now, so you may want to reread the end of the chapter for anything to make sense. Sorry!
We've been at our, "new home," for a little over a week now.
It seems our group has fallen into a routine; get up, have breakfast, and go to whatever job Deanna has gifted them. For those who haven't, they stay at home, twiddling their thumbs. For Carl and I, we go to the teen classes that some nameless Alexandrian gives us with the rest of the kids. We learn about trigonometry instead of learning to build a fire, or any other life-saving skills. I'm angry about going to them, but Carol tells us all, "We gotta keep up appearances." So I go and write numbers down, praying that one day we'll learn something useful.
Carols, "new appearance," has been the sweet, innocent housewife; doesn't know how to fire a gun, but can make a mean chicken pot pie. It's almost scary, how easy it is for her to put on the mask. That way, she tells us, she can keep an eye on our neighbors and the general populous of the Safe Zone. What she reports back to us is what we don't want to hear.
When we entered Alexandria, I expected armed people, snipers on watch, groups that go out to kill walkers every now and then. What I didn't expect was a population of over 70 people, with 50 who don't know how to fire a gun. Carol tells us that only two people she's met actually have had training with a gun. And this honestly scares me. If a herd of walkers barge through the gate, our group would have to step up. And that's if we can get our hands on a couple weapons. Without us, Alexandria Safe Zone would crumble.
Mom's still concerned about me adjusting to our new home. She thinks that I'm not eating enough during the group meals. Most people fork down the entire plate in what seems to be minutes. I can barely keep down having two bites of it.
I also can't sleep a whole night. Even with Carl soothing me, even with the whole group sleeping in the same room, I'm plagued by the same nightmares, over and over again. Walkers breaking through the gates, killing everyone, my friends and family dying before my eyes. Last night showcased mom bleeding out on the lawn, and me protecting her body from walkers through a waterfall of tears.
Currently I'm at the kitchen sink, the sun pouring through the breaks of the blinds and onto my shrunken form. My hands pull out different assorted dishes and silverware from sudsy waters, hastily running a sponge on them before running them under the faucet and setting them on a dying rack. The remnants of this mornings breakfast. Carol made some scrambled eggs with toast.
With a groan, I let a mug sink back into the water with a PLOP. I run my hands half-heartedly on a damp kitchen towel and bring my palms to press deeply to my eye sockets. Physically I'm washing dishes, mentally I'm still protecting moms dead body from an undead swarm. My elbows rest on the wet edge of the sink, barely staying in place due to the mess of water. I plead mentally. I just want it out of my head for one goddamn second. Please. Please.
The front door opens loudly, and my pleading shuts off. My hands go from my face to the soapy water, grabbing some stupid, barely sharp knife that was used to cut bread. I turn to the open doorway of the kitchen, holding the blade out while some of its leftover bubbles slip onto my skin.
Carol stands in the frame, holding a Tupperware container half-filled with some Alfredo pasta bake. Her eyes go from the knife to my guarded face and she raises a brow.
I shake my head and turn back to the sink, cleaning it and setting it to dry. Stupid paranoia.
"Looks like the Clarke's don't enjoy Alfredo." Carol comments, opening the door to the fridge and setting it on a shelf. "Damn shame. They missed out on my best."
I nod heartily; Carol may not actually be a housewife, but her cooking is heaven.
"You gonna talk any time soon?" She asks me, and I shiver in my spot at her cold tone. I cock my head to look over my shoulder. Where'd you get that idea from?
"You should." She continues, the fridge door swinging shut behind her. "You can't just be a mute in the apocalypse. We need you to talk."
I fully turn around, looking at her as she moves closer to me. Her blue eyes are cold and harsh as she says, "What if we're on a run, and there's a walker behind one of us? Are you just going to point at it and hope we get the message? Or are you gonna grow a pair and warn us? Are we gonna die because of you?"
My back presses against the wet edge of the sink, my hands holding to it like a lifeline. Please, stop.
"What's my name?" She demands. I look at her in bewilderment. "Say my name. Out loud."
Please don't make me.
In a haste, I grab her hand and begin to write her name down.
C-A-R-
"No." She yanks her hand away, saying harshly. "I need you to say it. Out loud. Prove to me you're not useless."
I'm not useless, I think bitterly. But I don't say anything.
"Say it."
No.
After a brief silence, her steel gaze bores into mine. "I thought so." Her answer about me seems final. I'm not useless.
She briskly turns from me, heading to the front door. My eyes, blinking back tears, keep to her disappearing form.
"Y'know," I hear Carol say from the door, "there was a time you used to badass. I could count on you for anything. I want that Alyssa back."
I do, too.
Through the blood pounding in my ears, I faintly hear the door open and close, no more footsteps echoing through the house. I gasp loudly, blinking back tears that threaten to escape. I'm not useless. I repeat the phrase like a mantra in my head. I'm not useless.
Or am I?
No! I will the thoughts away, shaking my head as I turn back to the dirty dishes in the sink. A mindless activity. That should help stop the thoughts of uselessness. I wipe my eyes with the back of my palms, just to dry the escaped pools of tears that managed to form. Don't cry. Don't cry.
I'm not useless. I keep the line playing in my head as I grab a large plate with eggs stuck on top. I grab the raggedy sponge and make harsh circles on the surface, desperately trying to focus on cleaning.
With one wrong twist of my wrist, I drop the sponge and it lands onto the edge of the sink, sloughing back in the water. The plate is not so lucky.
It drops onto the kitchen tile, breaking into large and tiny shards all over the ground. I hiss at the loud noise, and all remnants of reality leave my mind. My only thoughts are walkers breaking down the walls, wreaking havoc over Alexandria.
They heard you. They're coming for you.
Some part of my mind screams out that it's not real, that it's all in my head, but I can't stop the onslaught of images in my brain. They flash in my mind like a movie, people dead and the undead coming after me. Everyone's going to die and it's all your fault. They heard you and they're coming to kill you and everyone you love.
I drop to the ground, only vaguely aware of the tiny shards of the broken ceramic digging into the denim covering my knees, and hastily try to clean up my mess. My brain isn't working properly; normally, one would grab a dustpan or even the damp kitchen towel by the sink. But for me, each rational thought I would usually have has shut off and I don't even think about it. Instead, I bring my palms down to the tile and brush the shards, both big and small, into a misshapen pile. My next thought is to bring my hand around a large shard of the dish, curling my fingers around the pointed edges to pick it up and discard it in the trash.
I gasp in pain as the edge cuts through my skin. Stupid. Stupid. My weight swigs me backward, from the balls of my feet onto my ass. I grasp at my wrist tightly, watching the steady bead of droplets fall onto pale marbled tile.
It's a decent gash on my left hand, angled downward from my index finger to the middle of my palm. The mantra in my head changes. It's added another line without my consent.
They heard you. Now they smell you. They're coming for you. They smell you.
They're coming for you.
I almost let out a shriek of fear as the front door to the house opens, making my thoughts true. They found me. They're coming to kill me.
"Anyone in here?" A familiar voice calls out. At least, it sounds familiar. I can't pinpoint who it is through the blood rushing in my ears. "I heard a crash."
They heard you.
I press my back against the cupboard beneath the sink, panting heavily but trying not to make any unnecessary sound.
"Helloooo." The voice calls again. Footsteps follow the sound, making their way closer to the kitchen door. "Anyone?"
They're coming for you.
The footsteps get closer and closer before they stop completely. A figure looms in the open doorway, their shadow huge on the ground in front of me.
"... Alyssa?" The figure asks.
And I begin to cry.
"Hey, hey, hey." The person immediately goes to me, their arms pulling me into a hug on the floor. I bawl into their shirt, holding on tightly to them as they pull me a few feet away from the broken dish. An arm goes around my back, making soothing circles while the other goes to the back of my head, cradling it. Through my blurry vision I can't see who it is, nor did I pinpoint the voice, but there's only one person I know to give hugs like this. Glenn.
"Hey, hey, hey. It's okay, you're okay." He whispers to me soothingly. He doesn't ask what happened, or why I'm bleeding, or anything. He just holds me close, and I'm grateful for it. I can't handle anything more right now.
"No, I'm not." I rasp out between gasps.
He doesn't skip a beat. His grip tightens around me and he says, "But you will be," with such confidence I almost believe him. So I give a halfhearted nod into his shoulder as I slump against him even more. I make a mental note that Emma is very lucky to have a brother like Glenn. He must've given her the best hugs after she was dumped, or if she was having a bad day.
We stay on the floor a little while longer, my gasps of tears slowly turning to hiccups. The hiccups then die out and the twin tears on my face dry, caked onto my skin.
The hand cradling the back of my head goes to the one I kept on his shoulder, the one I cut. He pulls it in front of his face, examining the gash.
"You're bleeding." Glenn says. I nod to him.
"C'mon." He begins to stand, and I step away from him so I can get up too. "Let's get you cleaned up." I nod obligingly a second time, and he leads me to the room where he and Maggie rest in.
Currently, it's technically not their room. But it seems like Rick will tell the group we don't need to bunker in the living room at night anymore, and I can easily foresee them taking this to sleep in. Glenn sets me on the edge of the bed, leaving me for a second to grab some first aid kit in the adjoining bathroom. I hold the bloody palm out past the bed, letting the small drops fall on the hardwood floor. My other hand grasps the wrist tightly.
"Okay," Glenn starts, sitting beside me and opening the pale white plastic container, "Lemme see your hand."
Only shaking slightly, I bring my palm closer. His hands gingerly hold it by the edges, inspecting it. "Looks a bit deep. You'll probably need some stitches. Ever had those before?"
I shake my head at him. "Lucky. Once I fell off my bike and managed to split my forehead open. I needed three of them. Hurt like a bitch."
My eyes widen to him as he grabs some gauze from the out and presses it to the slice. He looks back at my expression and grimaces slightly. "Sorry, that didn't help, did it?" I smirk at the response. As he presses the gauze down I hiss a little at the pressure. His other hand goes back to the kit, grabbing some alcohol to pour.
About half an hour later and five very painful stitches on my hand, I finally get the new wound wrapped up and finished with. The white gauze is a stark contrast against my tanned skin.
"Ta da." Glenn unceremoniously finishes, tossing the dirty gauze in the nearby trash by the nightstand. "It's gonna hurt like hell the next coupla days and you won't be able to use a knife with it, but it'll get better."
I nod in gratitude and quickly scribble a thanks onto his palm with my finger. "Anytime." He smiles to me. He sets the first aid kit back in the bathroom and flops at the front of the bed, lying sideway on the sheets.
"Can I ask you something?" Glenn asks, opening his palm to me. I raise an eyebrow at him. "SURE," I write down.
"Okay." He sits up in front of me, his expression built only of concern. Concern, I'm certain, meant for me. "What... Happened to you? I mean-"
He shifted in his spot, shimmying a little before continuing, "I've seen you cry before, but... You look like you completely broke down, Alyssa."
I pressed my lips in a thin line. What did happen to me? I push a short strand of hair behind my ear, thinking for a moment.
I spell out, "I BROKE A PLATE," into his hand. I can't bring myself to say what actually happened.
His head shakes a little. "You know that's not what I meant." He says slowly.
I grimace and give a jerky nod. I sigh, closing my eyes and I take a nice big breath. Then I write, "PANIC ATTACK." Glenn nods.
"The first step to getting better is to admit it." He tells me. "And I know that you don't wanna hear that whole bullshit by-the-book checklist of getting better, but it's true. You can't just hold it in anymore. It's gonna destroy you."
I twist myself so I sit next to him instead, resting my head on his shoulder. He rests his head on top of mine, wrapping an arm around my shoulder comfortingly.
"I wanna hear it." I rasp out to him. "I wanna get better. I need to get better."
He stays quiet, listening to me.
"I think I'm gonna try." I say. I don't sound confident at all, but if there's any place to start, it's here. Any form of talking is better than the silence I've subjected myself to for who the fuck knows how long.
"Try what?" Glenn asks. I note how his tone isn't condescending or innocent. He isn't trying to pull something out of me. He's trying to help. Like Glenn always has.
"Try. Anything." I answer. "Talking to people. Alexandria. A functioning member of this post-apocalyptic shit society. All of it."
"Good." Glenn gives my arms a squeeze. "If you need anything, I'm right here with you. For anything."
I smile. He's such a good person. I don't think I'd be able to do this without him as my crutch.
"Emma's lucky to have a brother like you." I say.
"You think so?" He quips. From his voice I can tell he's smirking.
"Yeah." I nudge him playfully with my shoulder. "I know so."
A/N: Sooooo. What'dya think? Personally I LOVE writing Big Brother Glenn, so of course I would use him as Alyssa's crutch in her change back into the badass we know and love. I love to hear how you guys feel about this. I was a bit nervous coming to write about panic attacks, seeing as I've never had one or any form of PTSD, so if I've made it wrong I hope I don't make anyone mad.
Anyways, let me know your thoughts!